


Blood on his hands

by Lakritzwolf



Series: Whumptober 2019 [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt, Self Control, Vampire Transition, blood cravings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 23:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20882081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakritzwolf/pseuds/Lakritzwolf
Summary: Written for Whumptober 2019Day 1: Shaky hands





	Blood on his hands

His hands are shaking. He curls them into fists, but he still feels the tremor running through his nerves.

During the first few days, he had no idea what had happened to him. He only remembers the coldness, the darkness, and a horrible, horrible hunger. He came to at one point, with his hands coated in blood.

The terror that was seeping into his bones at the realisation what had happened still sits deep. 

He tried to find help, but had no idea where to go. 

In a last, desperate attempt, he made his way to the church. He wasn’t sure if he could find absolution, or even salvation, but he had to do _something_.

But he couldn’t cross the threshold. The one place where he had always found peace and acceptance was now barred to him. He waited in the darkness for the priest, but as soon as he came closer, he heard the heartbeat, smelled the blood, hot and enticing, and he was so hungry, so _hungry_...

He ran. 

A vampire found him curled up in a corner of the grave yard. Took him to a place where he could feed. 

It still makes him nauseous to think how good it felt. Blood. 

God has forsaken him. And he can’t even ask why, because the very name burns on his tongue, feels like his mouth is full of ash, choking him as he speaks. 

The other vampire had told him he can’t go back. 

He hadn’t wanted to hear that. He had fed, he knew where to get more, he didn’t want to live amongst those monsters.

He ignored the voice deep down that whispers: _You are one of them. You are a monster too._

But he didn’t want to listen. 

And now he’s here, in his room, the door closed and locked, his back leaning against the wood that might as well be cardboard. 

His hands are shaking. He looks at them, his hands, shaking like leafs in the wind. He can almost hear the bones rattle beneath his skin. 

But what he hears is her heartbeat. 

And he can hear it, the gushing of blood in her veins. And memories of the hot, salty, pungent taste on his tongue makes him want to retch. 

Not because of the blood.

Because this is his _sister_.

And he realises as he looks at his hands, that next time it might be her blood dripping down his fingers. Her blood running rich and sweet over his tongue. 

His hands are shaking and he feels so weak, so feeble, so lost. 

He had promised her to protect her.

And now the only thing she needs protection from is _him_.

He curls his shaking hands into fists again, and slowly, he gets onto his feet. He can do this. Just one more time. 

She is asleep. Her face so peaceful. So beautiful. 

He will protect her. He will continue to protect her, if only from the shadows. He will always watch over her, and he will always love her. 

While he tells her all this, his hands are curled into fists, pressed tightly against his legs. He wants to touch her, just brush that lock of hair from her face, just one last time...

But he doesn’t. Because the moment he uncurls his hands, his fingers twitch again. And he can see them dripping with blood. Her blood. 

He makes his silent farewell, and he leaves, and by the time she sees him again for the first time after decades, she no longer knows who he is. 

But it’s okay. Raphael has had blood on his hands many times since that fateful night, but at least, it hadn’t been hers.


End file.
